


throw the fear, let the day become the year

by sugarteabear



Category: Coronation Street
Genre: Angst, F/F, Rana-centric, Some fluff?? Maybe??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13993188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarteabear/pseuds/sugarteabear
Summary: based on a couple of the pics around the upcoming kidnapping storyline.a hybrid of the prompts:“something to do with rana’s parent’s”and “rana’s anxieties about the situation she’s in”





	throw the fear, let the day become the year

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna throw this to y'all, so catch!!  
> any and all mistakes are mine!

There are fingers curled in her coat sleeve and hands placed on either shoulder, but the tight rise and fall of her chest as she struggles for breath has her shrugging them off. 

Rana needs space, desperately, and the weight of the touches only strengthen her sense of suffocation.

Living with that kind of restriction is tiring. Feeling like a puppet in your own life is tiring. 

And she’s so, so tired. 

Though logically she knows Kate and Imran’s intentions are nothing short of good - knows that they’re just concerned for her wellbeing - there’s still a part of her, frightened and angry, that wants to snap. At the both of them.

(“I can walk without the guidance!” She’d say or snarl or snipe, bitterly.)

But she won’t. 

She can’t.

Even if she wanted to, wholeheartedly, she can’t. 

Because her jaw aches with distant screams and shouts; her throat throbs with the tears she’s still crying; her heart struggles to handle its breaking.

With breathing and swallowing as new chores, she dreads to think of the energy she’d use just speaking, never mind the strain of snapping. 

(And she’s tired. So tired.)

What’s worse is that she knows neither of them would blame her for it, neither of them would hate her for it.

Her scathing words would be but scratches; they’d sting but leave no scars.

Rana doesn’t like that idea, doesn’t want to have an excuse ready for her verbal aggression. 

She doesn’t want to hurt Kate again, whose fingers are the ones holding on out of protective anger.

For a brief moment, Rana wants to believe that the anger’s directed at her. That Kate’s fingers are burning her skin because she _did_ snap - not because of Rana’s momentary inability to handle sensory information. 

The belief, encouraged, runs through her mind, its movements frantic but its bite weak; eliminated, ultimately, by the uncomfortable reality that Kate’s anger is with herself.

Rana knows Kate’s angry with herself - because she’d sworn, only a matter of days ago, that facing her parents alone would be something Rana would never have to do again. That they could do no more damage, no more harm, no more destructive control. That Kate would be there with and for her, no matter what.

(They’d been sat together on Kate’s sofa, the absence of Alya allowing Rana to curl into Kate’s side, watching Bambi. After the unexpected arrival of Rana’s parents in Weatherfield, the Disney film was an attempt at a much needed distraction.

An awful attempt, really, considering they’d both been in floods of tears by the end of it - 

“Please tell me that sound’s not what I think it is...”

“Uh, I mean, maybe she got away...?” 

“ _Kate!_ ” -

but the steady beating of Kate’s heart had made up for the trauma. It was a reminder that this - that Kate, their love and this life - was real. Was possible.

Once, it had been far from that. A distant dream lingering in Rana’s mind, morning and night, playing around with what could be.

The fantasy back then had scared her, but its reality now meant it was something she no longer feared. 

The lengths her parents had gone to cover it up was a different story entirely.

Hassan and Saira had the power and determination to ruin it all and Rana didn’t dare underestimate them; she’d said as much to Kate.

“You won’t lose me because of them, Rana, and I’ll sure as hell make sure I don’t lose you.” Kate had placed a kiss on the top of Rana’s head, as soft as it was fierce, to emphasise her conviction. “Cause you’re, like, pretty much stuck with me forever now, babe,”

Rana had shifted to look up then, her hand reaching to run itself through Kate’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear “Promise?”)

But they did. Her parents came again, under the guise of acceptance and family, intent on damaging the life Rana had built for herself.

They came again, managing to get Rana alone, determined to separate the lovers. Even if that meant shipping their daughter to another country. Alone and afraid.

Rana... hadn’t seen it coming.

(A similar promise had been made before that one, too, Rana thinks - on the day where Kate broke Sophie’s heart, where they realised they finally had the freedom to be together. Within limits.) 

And yet she’s here now, gasping to be free from the touch of the woman she’d fought for and the brother who’d stood by her.

Kate, though, releases her clasp on coat fabric the moment she feels Rana tense, and Rana’s too tired to offer reassurances. She wants to tell Kate that it’s not her she’s pulling away from, that she didn’t break her promise nor did she let Rana down. 

Trying to formulate the right words hurts, however, and sharp pain at her lungs makes her settle on rhythmic breathing instead.

But Imran’s arm still snakes around the back of her neck; his reluctance to let go almost makes her stop walking completely.

A hiss that Rana thinks comes from Kate has him pulling his hands away eventually too.

Neither of them move far, flanking Rana on either side, but the space that they’ve granted is enough. She’s able to follow in their lead, in the direction of a car, rather than be handled and herded by them.

And they’re close enough so that, if she were to change her mind, if she were to reach out, she could grab ahold of Kate with ease.

From behind, she remembers the presence of Yasmeen and Zeedan. The image of Yasmeen - the woman who’d taken Rana under her wing, cared for her as Rana imagines a parent would and should do - with arms outstretched, using her body to block the passing of Hassan and Saira, stays rooted in her mind.

She feels, all at once, like a vulnerable cub whose pride have banded together in her defence.

They were a pride far from perfect, their bonds damaged and their relations strained - but despite all of that, despite the pain of the past, they’d come together, ferocious and furious, claws unsheathed and jaws snapping, to save one of their own. 

A ghost of a smile etches its way onto Rana’s face - the idea feels warm and safe, silly, even - and though it’s only a faint and fast tug of the lips, one which could have gone unnoticed so easily, she can feel Kate relax at her side. 

As if Kate knows, now, that everything’s going to be alright.  
Given time. Given trust. 

(She’ll ask, later, to Kate’s quiet confusion, if they can watch The Lion King)

//

They’ve been driving in a silence only Kate and Imran are aware of - Rana had panicked the second the car door shut behind her and then zoned out completely, unresponsive to any attempt at conversation.

A loud exhale from the the backseat breaks the fragility of the quiet and has Rana reconnecting with the world around her. Slowly but surely regaining control of her senses, putting together the pieces of the moment.

“ _A car. I’m in a car. With Imran, driving... and Kate’s in the back. She’s safe_.” Rana hums to herself, thankful that her parent’s threats towards Kate had been mere words. “ _She’s safe and... I’m not a cub._ ”

The last thought is one she doesn’t mean to think, one that had formed subconsciously; awakening the strength her parents had tried to dull.

They’d almost fooled her into belittlement. Almost.

Again.

Time and time again had they thrown their makeshift restraints at Rana, but they never learned.

She’d never tried to underestimate them, but they never showed the same concern about her - they’d thrown their restraints again, foolishly, blind to the fact that their daughter was no longer a cub. 

Rana had grown up with the spirit of a lioness, courage and power in her stride. Stubborn and independent and headstrong. Vulnerable too, and that was okay. She could be easily spooked, but always tried to stay true to herself, always ended up going after what she wanted.

Her parents wouldn’t, couldn’t, change that. 

“I want to go home,” Rana croaks, breaking the silence. Her voice, raw with vulnerability, holds powerful, unwavering in its coat of certainty.

“I know sis, and I promise that’s where we’re taking you.”

She has an inkling that Imran means what she doesn’t

“No, I-”

She doesn’t want to return to the house in which she only occupies space. Where life within the walls is tense and awkward. That’s only a roof under her head, not a home.

She’s had enough of not quite belonging. 

Because home is...

She turns slightly, eyes catching Kate’s. “I want to go _home_.”

Kate wipes her eyes and nods, letting out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, Rana. Home. Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> i like to explore thoughts, n write sad poetry/prose. you can find me on tumblr @sugarteabear,, sometimes (sometimes) i publish said poetry/prose on @fallingfawn.
> 
> honestly i just miss n love this pair sm


End file.
